


Dream a Little Bigger, Starling

by kedgeree



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur and Eames are birds, Birds, Birds in love, Birds with angst, Birds with dialogue, Birds with romance, M/M, starlings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:58:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8501545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedgeree/pseuds/kedgeree
Summary: Arthur and Eames are starlings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've apparently started a tradition with myself of posting flash fics for my birthday. So here is one about birds! I hope it's fun!

"HAWK!"

Ariadne was the first to scream the warning. Arthur was already diving, Evasive Maneuver Three, as the rest of the flock passed on the strident signal.

And they were off. Ariadne and Mal on his right, Cobb and Yusuf on his left, picking up Arthur's micro-signals, and the flock behind followed like a single, flowing creature born in the moment of need.

Bank, swirl, bank, climb, dive, bank.

A sun-painted field of yellow-green grass rippled below as they rode the wind. Arthur's heart fluttered in his breast—alive, alive, alive!—as he beat his wings harder, soaring, plummeting, rolling toward the roof of the forest.

Bank, swirl, bank, climb, dive, bank.

He didn't deviate from the maneuver or check behind him until a chattering call rippled its way through the flock: All clear! Safe!

Ariadne's black eyes, then Yusuf's, reflected Arthur's look of triumph back at him as he led the flock in a lazy circle to double-check the all clear (because a flock leader could never be too careful). But of course they were safe. Evasive Maneuver Three had never failed them. None of Arthur's Evasive Maneuvers had ever failed them. They flowed majestically, victoriously through the sky like the sail of one of those sea-vessels that always dotted the harbors, sleek and—

Ridiculous.

Arthur's satisfaction dissipated completely.

He didn't need to twitch even a single a feather to recognize the bird out of formation. _Again_. The bird doing his own foolish loops and swirls, reeling ignobly at the edge of the flock. _Twittering._

"EAMES!"

Eames responded to Arthur's squawk of irritation with a burst of speed into a showy twirl, his glossy plumage flashing rainbow colors as the sunlight caught it.

And to add insult to the injury of Eames's ostentatious behavior, Yusuf and Ariadne looked almost amused by the inappropriate antics. Even Mal's eye glinted with fond indulgence.

Cobb, at least, looked as disapproving as Arthur felt. So that was something.

Why couldn't Eames just…stop it?

Arthur knew he'd been letting Eames get away with his flashy, distracting behavior for far too long. It wasn't at all like him, but for some reason the thought of confronting Eames—and Eames in particular—unsettled Arthur. Maybe it was the humor that always seemed to be glinting in Eames's eyes. Was he laughing at Arthur? Maybe it was the way the purples and blues and greens and gold tips of Eames's feathers stood out from the black with so much more vibrancy than any of the others. What made Eames so different? Arthur thought maybe if he simply ignored Eames's show, he would get bored and just…stop.

Apparently, that wasn't working.

 

 

The flock settled at the edge of a forest for the night. While the others were foraging for food, chirping and chattering amongst themselves, Arthur gave his feathers a determined shake and went to seek out Eames. He found him singing merrily to himself, whistling and warbling imitated snatches of other birds' songs as he hopped around the edge of an abandoned squirrel's nest, poking a bit of twig into place.

"Eames."

Eames flapped once in surprise as Arthur landed on the brim of the nest beside him. Then his eyes brightened. "Arthur! You're here! Hello!" His breast feathers puffed out proudly. "Look at this nest I found!"

Arthur glanced into the nest. Eames had apparently begun filling it with  freshly-plucked leaves and fragrant blades of green grass to make a soft bed for the night. "It's nice," Arthur acknowledged.

Eames emitted a soft trill. "It is nice. And…" Eames ducked down to make a quick adjustment to the position of a leaf. "Roomy. Absolutely big enough for two."

"Sure," Arthur chipped out shortly. He wasn't here to talk about nesting.

But.

Was Eames seeking a nest-mate?

The blues in his plumage were really standing out tonight, Arthur noticed absently.

Mal and Ariadne used to nest together, but now Mal was nesting with Cobb. Ariadne was planning to nest with Yusuf. Saito had his choice of nest-mates. Most of the flock paired off to sleep tucked against each other for warmth, companionship, sometimes to start families, but Eames had never nested with anyone. Just like Arthur. There was something about the thought of Eames finally choosing a mate for his nest that Arthur didn't like. _Who_ was Eames planning to nest with?

But Arthur wasn't here to talk about nesting.

Eames hopped sideways toward Arthur.  "You saw me today."

"I most definitely saw you today."

Eames preened.  The look in his eye was oddly hopeful. "Did you like it?"

Arthur ruffled his feathers, making his irritation as visible as possible, and took a firmer grip on the edge of the nest. "No. I didn't."

"No?" Eames hopped back.

"That's what I'm here to speak to you about."

Eames looked down at his comfortable nest. "Oh."

"We have five Evasive Maneuvers, Eames."

"But…that doesn't mean we can't try new things. Does it?"

"It means we don't improvise. _You_ don't improvise. If we need a new move, I'll incorporate one."

Eames took a tiny hop forward, his expression earnest. "But that's why I wanted you to see—"

"We're one flock, Eames. We fly together," Arthur said firmly. His heart was pounding, but he made himself be firm. "Or we don't fly. Do you understand?"

Eames tilted his head, black eyes flickering as he looked Arthur up and down. "You're…quite stubborn, aren't you?"

Arthur drew himself up. "So you do understand."

"Yes." Eames's eyes glinted.  "I believe I do."

 

 

The flock was flying peacefully over hilly, farm-dotted countryside. Peacefully and far too complacently.

"DRILL!" Arthur shrieked.

"Drill!" echoed through the flock as Arthur swooped into Evasive Maneuver Four. Climb. Bank. Drop. Drop. Bank. Circle.

The rest of the flock circled behind him.

Climb. Bank. Drop. Drop. Bank. Circle. Perfect precision.

Except for one bird.

Arthur gaped.

At the tail end of the flock, Eames embellished the bank with a serpentine flourish, then wheeled into the circle with a twist like an autumn leaf caught by the wind. It was…beautiful. Why did Eames always have to be _so_ beautiful? A stunningly beautiful move. That was _not_ part of Evasive Maneuver Four.

"Take over, Ariadne," Arthur said sharply.

Ariadne twitched in flight. "Me? Take over?"

"Just this once." Arthur was already spearing toward Eames. "You know the maneuver."

They nearly collided, their wings beating the same air.

"You came!" Eames exclaimed, exultant, burbling. "Better? Do you like this one? I _knew_ I could show you! I've been working on the twirl and—oh, Arthur, try it!"

"Go to ground," Arthur ordered flatly.

"I knew you'd like…what?"

"Go to ground. Now. You're out of this flock."

For a moment, Eames's wings flapped like he was about to fall. "Out…of the flock?" He looked with alarm toward the flock, gaining distance now on Arthur and Eames, leaving them alone as they began another iteration of Number Four.

"I warned you," Arthur said. He felt the chill himself, already, of being left behind. It felt wrong. It felt scary. Surely Eames would see now that this was serious. There were _hawks_ , there were _owls_ , there were things in the sky that didn't care how beautiful he was. Surely Eames would see reason now and stop playing around. Nobody wanted to fly alone.

"But…Arthur." Eames's wings trembled. "Please."

"You aren't special, Eames. The _flock_ flies together. And that doesn't include you. Not anymore."

Arthur put on a burst of speed, pulling away from Eames just far enough so that he'd still be able to hear Eames call him back, tell Arthur he really did understand now.

But Eames didn't call him back.

When Arthur turned to look anxiously behind him, Eames was already far below. He must have _plummeted_. Arthur watched in disbelief as Eames got smaller and smaller and finally disappeared into a copse of trees below.

Fine, then. If he was willing to leave the flock, then…fine.

That was his choice.

Arthur flew to rejoin the flock.

He was just trying to do the right thing. They were so close to home—only two more flights—and he was just trying to get the flock home safely.

So why did he feel like the hawk?

 

 

Ariadne was nestled in a clump of dry hay in the empty loft, and Arthur crept over to talk to her.

He was miserable.

They'd settled for the night in a large, empty barn. The flock was quiet, with none of the usual gregarious chatter, no whistling, melodies, or tales of interesting things spotted on the flight.

Arthur scratched at the aged wood of the loft floor. "You led well today," he offered at last, glancing up at her in the half-light. "I'm sorry I just…dropped it on you like that, but you led well."

"Thank you," Ariadne said softly.

"I, um, saw the thing you did in the middle. The extra loop."

Ariadne's dark eyes shimmered. "Are you going to send me away, too?"

" _I thought he'd come back_ ," Arthur blurted. "We're almost _home_ and I know he wants a nest-mate, he had this…grass…I didn't think he'd really _go_."

His voice was too loud, like the call of alarm when a predator was near.

Arthur didn't care. He felt like he might cry. He'd never cried before. He didn't even know if he could. But that's how he felt. He'd sent away one of the _flock_ , he'd sent away _Eames_. He was a terrible leader. He was a terrible bird. Everything was _terrible_ and it was all because of him. "I've made a terrible mistake, haven't I?"

The darkness inside the barn was rustling with interest at the goings on in the loft. Yusuf fluttered up and landed beside Ariadne. He exchanged a careful glance with her.

"Arthur, we all love you," Ariadne's voice was surprisingly gentle. She looked like she knew exactly what Arthur was thinking. "We all think you are a wonderful leader. We would follow you anywhere."

"But I've made a terrible mistake."

Yusuf hopped toward him tentatively. "Why did you do it, Arthur?"

"I just want to keep you all safe," Arthur said. Other members of the flock were joining them in the loft, now. Mal and Cobb, Saito, Tadashi. The whole barn was listening. "That's my _job_. We can't just…wing it! I know my formations, my evasive maneuvers, they aren't the most…imaginative, but they're _good_. They keep us safe. They're what we _need_."

"But perhaps…" It was Mal who hopped forward. "Perhaps not _all_ we need."

"What do you mean?"

Ariadne glanced nervously at Mal. "We've heard that in other murmurations…"

"They share the lead." Yusuf finished boldly. A rustle of feathers and the hum of low notes ran through the barn. "In flight."

Arthur looked at Ariadne. "You mean…like you, today?"

"Sometimes. Of course we do Evasive Maneuvers One through Five. Of _course_ we do. But we could also do…more."

"You all feel this way?" Arthur asked, bewildered. Sharing the lead? The very idea of it terrified him.

"I…" Tadashi piped up hesitantly. "I've made up a swoop."

"I've been thinking of this upcurve-bank," Yusuf said, almost dreamily.

"We don't just need safety, Arthur," Mal said soberly. "Some of us need beauty. Some of us need to play."

"That's what Eames was trying to tell me," Arthur whispered. An icy breeze shivered through his feathers. Except it was a warm night. And there was no breeze. "I said he didn't listen, but it was me. I didn't listen."

"Some of us need beauty _and_ play." Mal flicked a wing, turning her head to look at Arthur out of one onyx-black eye. "And some of us make it."

Arthur thought about Eames's graceful swoops and swirls in flight. Like the wind through wheat, like water flowing around rocks, like a flower opening to the dawn. He thought about how they would look multiplied by thousands. About how they would feel.

" _I'm going to get him back._ "

A chorus of trills and whistles greeted his pronouncement, and the barn filled with the sound of fluttering wings.

 "The flock flies together." Ariadne's eyes shone. "I think you mean _we're_ going to get him back."

 

 

It was miles to the copse where Eames had disappeared, but Arthur's trajectory was unerring, and he flew the flock hard in his urgency to get back to Eames. As the treetops came into clear view, Arthur thought he caught the faint notes of a sad melody on the night breeze. A soft, forlorn song drifting up through the leaves. But then the rush of the flock's wings as they began their descent drowned out any other sounds.

"Eames!" Arthur cried out. "EAMES!"

"Arthur?" It was no more than a breath of wind across a leaf, but Arthur dove for it.

"Eames!"

Exhausted as they were from the extended flight, a joyful chorus passed through the flock, and the single oak that held Eames suddenly bore the intrusion of every starling that could find the tiniest bit of branch to perch on.

Eames was huddled in a tiny knothole. He peered out at Arthur, looking dumbfounded. "What are you doing here?"

Shame swept over Arthur. "We've come back for you."

"All of you?"

"All of us."

"The whole flock? For me?"

"We're _your_ flock. No matter what…no matter what stupid thing I say. We'll always your flock. Always. If you'll have us back." Arthur lowered his head and pitched his tone low, just for Eames. "If you'll forgive _me_."

"But…you said I'm not special."

"Well, I'm an idiot. And I should never. Because of _course_ you are," Arthur said thickly. "You're…you're the _most_ special. And. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. And. Please. Please come back."

"You really want me to?"

"I really want you to. Eames, _please_ come back. Come home."

Eames's eyes swept the full branches of the oak, and on a low, sweet note so filled with gratitude it almost broke Arthur's heart he said, simply, "Yes."

 

 

Ariadne's joyful song filled the air, and the flock dove into a graceful arc.

Her style was a combination of sashaying curves with the occasional unexpected sharp turn. Arthur had no idea what was coming next.

It was incredible.

"Anything you want," he'd told Ariadne. "It's all yours. I only have one request…"

"They call us 'common.' Did you know that?" Eames said as they dove into a gust of wind, following Ariadne's lead. "In the towns. 'Common starling.'"

Arthur swooped up. "I've heard them."

The flock began a tight twist, threading back on itself.

"But it doesn' t make any sense. Look at her fly. Look at _you,_ Arthur. How can we be common when we can do something this beautiful?" Eames's eyes were full of wonder.  "I don't _feel_ common."

Arthur's breast fluttered in anticipation. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

Eames looked at him. "Why?"

As the head of the flock skimmed past the tail, Ariadne flew right in front of them, crying out merrily, "Eames! Take the lead!"

"Me?" If flapping wings could sound astonished, that was the sound Eames's wings made as he flapped in place, like he'd suddenly forgotten the proper way to fly. "Really?"

Arthur let the tip of his wing brush the tip of Eames's wing, an encouraging nudge. "Let's be uncommon."

Eames moved like an explosion of joy.

They soared.

 

 

Arthur was so full of pride in his flock he often wondered how he was still able to fly.

Eames's patterns were a favorite, it was true, but everyone who took a turn at the lead had a surprise in store. Saito had a commanding yet elegant presence. Yusuf's style was erratic and quirky, jumping around like a dream, but still somehow all connected. Mal's style was darkly, hauntingly beautiful, like a chase in the night. And that curve Tadashi wanted to try really was good.

But the most beautiful, the most breathtaking formations…

"You wanted to show me something?" Eames landed on the branch next to Arthur, head tilted inquisitively.

Arthur hopped to one side. And then the other. He couldn't really seem to stop hopping. He'd meticulously gathered the most colorful, sweetest-smelling flowers he could find, purples and pinks and blues, the greenest, springiest grasses. He'd made it beautiful. And playful, he thought. There was an acorn. That could be fun?

Oh, he was so nervous.

"This is my nest."

Eames sidled a little closer. "Is it, now?"

Arthur hopped. "It is."

"It's very nice."

"Roomy." Arthur twitched. And hopped. "Don't you think?"

"Very roomy." Eames pointed one eye at Arthur's nest, considering. "I'd say it was probably big enough for two."

"It is," Arthur said eagerly, hopping. "So."

Eames's eyes twinkled. "So?"

One of the twigs Arthur was hopping on snapped. "Oh, shit," Arthur burst out. "Will you be my nest-mate? I thought you already had a nest-mate, but Ariadne said you didn't have a nest-mate. And…" _Mad for you_ , was what she'd actually said. _Always has been_. "Will you be _my_ nest-mate?"

Eames _hooted_ as he spread his wings and launched himself at Arthur.

They toppled back into Arthur's nest, sending a puff of grass and petals into the air.

"Oh," said Arthur. "That means yes, right?"

"That means yes," agreed Eames, nudging the tip of his beak between the tiny feathers on Arthur's neck.

Yes. Absolutely the most beautiful, the most breathtaking formations.

 

 


End file.
